Nothing
by virgogirl32
Summary: What if the weight of Charlie's death finally overwhelmed Jack? What if Kate was the only person who could save him? Jate OneShot


Nothing

**Rating**: M, M, M! Stay away if you have virgin eyes. I won't be responsible for your corruption. This is not a fluffy or happy Jate fic.

**Disclaimer**: This takes place during a scene in "The Beginning of the End," Episode 4x01. If you have not seen it, please do not read since it will have some minor spoilers and dialogue.

**Summary**: What if the helicopter hadn't shown up when it did? What if the weight of losing Charlie finally made Jack snap? What if Kate was the only one to help?

**Dedication**: To Marie, for coming up with the best part of the fic and for all my other Jaters at who help keep me sane and entertained.

Sayid and Desmond elected to lead everyone else back to camp, rounding our fellow survivors up like little wet schoolchildren in desperate need of direction. I look to them and motion to Jack and they nod in understanding, herding everyone forward towards the beach.

Looking ahead, I can't help but begin to feel overwhelmed by the weight of this situation. I was so caught up in the excitement of Naomi's death and the divide of our group that I couldn't allow myself to notice the cockpit.

If I did I would only be able to concentrate on the fact that I've been in this giant sarcophagus before. With Jack. With Charlie.

The tears well in my eyes as I step closer to the wreckage and the memories come flooding back with unforgiving speed. I walk up to Jack and lean into his side, trying to hold back the feelings that are threatening to overwhelm me.

I take a deep breath and try to keep my voice steady but the rain, the broken and soggy chairs and that God-awful stench of rotting corpses and jungle vegetation is nearly paralyzing.

"Are you thinking of Charlie?" I ask, the hitch in my voice painfully evident.

His voice is hopeless and resigned as he looks at the wreckage. He looks like he's about to give up.

"It feels like a hundred years ago that we came here together." He shakes his head in dismay, the rain dripping down his face and neck onto his already-soaked t-shirt.

I nod, trying not to focus too hard on the seats and the useless oxygen masks, the cockpit in the front of the plane where I got my first real taste of what being protected by Jack felt like.

"How did this happen?" he asks incredulously, turning to look at me.

I inch myself a little closer, trying desperately to convey to him that I understand and that I'm here for him. All thoughts of satellite phones, freighter people, Naomi, Locke, Ben and even Sawyer are shut out and cast aside by what's happening right now, between the two of us.

The pain in his eyes makes me want to die. The tension in his body is palpable: his fingers are placed flat on the wet carpet, completely taut; his back straight. A silent rage about to consume him. Nothing I could say could ever fix this or take that pain away from his eyes.

Nothing.

I move even closer to him and turn his face towards mine. As I rest my forehead against his, I'm inundated with the small but precious moments that we've shared with one another, starting with our first moment on the beach together and the kiss and the net and the night in the pool hall. Our eyes close and we both inhale deeply, the proximity excruciating.

Nothing that we've shared could compare to the intensity of this moment and I feel myself swiftly falling. With his forehead still touching mine he turns his body towards me and grabs my hands, gripping them like a vice. I hold on as tight as I can and just try to be there, hoping that my presence might be enough to calm the storms in his heart and mind.

He finally opens his eyes and pulls back to look at me, and for a split second I can't recognize his face. I'm almost frightened, but I remind myself that this is Jack. He begins inching closer, his eyes darting back and forth over and across my face, his mouth working to speak, but nothing comes out.

I try to talk but before I know it, his hands are gripping my sweatshirt into him and he's kissing me like I'm his lifeline. I react instantaneously, clasping the front of his t-shirt with a strength I didn't know I had. His lips move over mine in a way that is thrillingly animalistic, as if he's trying to claim me as his own. His hands move from my sweatshirt to my face, crushing my lips to his. His tongue slips into my mouth and duels with mine, completely unforgiving.

He slips the straps of my backpack off and it drops to the forest floor with a thud. Next follows my sweatshirt, the two of us struggling to get my arms out of the heavy material. It falls behind me and before I know it his hands are everywhere, clawing at me with a need and abandon nobody would have ever expected from him.

I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life. As we kiss, I can taste the salt on my tongue and it makes me pause, reminding me of his pain. I pull away and look at him and he doesn't seem to recognize me.

"Jack. It's OK. It's OK." I grab his face and lightly caress his neck, trying to pull him to me in an embrace but he pushes me away in a panic saying "No… no."

He becomes even more frantic, refusing to really look at me. He pulls my tank tops half way up my body but doesn't take them off, instead leaving them just above my breasts. In a frenzy he rips down my right bra cup and latches onto my nipple, forcing a gasp out of my mouth. He's clutching me to him, leaving me completely immobile and even though it's driving me crazy not being in control, the loss of power is scintillating.

My head falls back and he turns and pushes me up against the cockpit, the slick, cold metal digging into my spine. It's not jagged but the force with which I'm being pushed against it still hurts. My back arches to try and get away but doing that just forces me against him more, spurring him on.

"Stop," I plead pathetically.

He lifts his head up from my breast and kisses me fiercely, his assault unrelenting. I move to take off his backpack but he just keeps going so I can't. He drops his hands to the button on my pants and undoes it quickly, dipping his hand down across my wet skin and still lower until his fingers are inside me. I gasp in shock and put one hand on his shoulder and one hand on the ledge, trying to maintain some sort of balance. His fingers pulse inside me over and over and over, harder and then harder still, absolutely refusing to stop.

"Come on," he chokes out, "Come on."

I'm taken aback by this statement and even though what he's doing feels amazing I know that he's in another time and place. He keeps his fingers moving and bites into my shoulder, licking a pathway up my neck to my ear.

"Come on," he breathes again desperately.

I moan in pleasure and something about the noise makes him snap. In quick and halting movements he rips my jeans down to the ground and some higher power calls to me to step out of them. I can't believe that we're here right now – that our first time is going to be outside, in the rain, against a piece of the plane that brought us to this island and brought us together.

I try to undo the button on his jeans but he still won't allow me the opportunity. He pushes my hands away and does it himself, shoving his jeans and boxer briefs down just enough to reveal himself to me. Even with the rain I can see the tears freely falling down his face and I want to wipe them away, but I can't.

He lifts me up and enters me with one quick and unyielding thrust, not even stopping to ask if I'm ready or OK. He buries his head into my neck and I claw at him to hang on, trying to be all the things that he needs me to be for him right now, in this moment.

"Come on, come on," he repeats again and again and again. He's thrusting so hard that I'm sure my back is bleeding or at least bruised but he's like a man possessed.

"It's OK," I say.

"No! No!" he muffles against my shoulder, his voice breaking. He slows down his movements until we've stopped, the two of us breathing heavily.

"He's gone," I whisper, the tears gliding down my face. I hug him to me and try to ignore the fact that doing this slides him in deeper, creating the tingles again. He takes a deep, shuddering breath but suddenly shakes his head in defiance.

"No," he says again, this time angrily. His fingers grip my legs so tightly I'm afraid he might break them. He picks up the pace again, roughly jolting me against the metal, so hard and so deep that it's bordering on painful.

"Take me beyond the pain, Jack. Harder, deeper, faster," I whimper in his ear. I lock my legs around by his backside and push against him, getting as close as humanly possible.

"Come on, come on, come on," he squeaks out, his thrusts becoming more frantic and jerky as he reaches climax. He looks up at me suddenly, pain, sorrow, pleasure and desperation contorting his face before he has to look away. I can't stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks at the site of him like this and I can do nothing else but just be.

After a minute or two, I try to move and gasp at the pain in my back and legs, and it's as if something inside of him snaps. Finally, the Jack I know and love pulls back to look at my face, his eyes completely bloodshot, his chest heaving for breath. Recognition dawns on him and he pulls us away from the ledge and finally puts my legs down on the ground.

I put my arms around to touch my back and bring them around to assess, the slightest traces of blood staining my fingers. He looks down at me and turns me around.

"Kate, I don't… I can't believe I--"

I close my eyes and shake my head to silence him. I put my hand on his face, forcing him to look at me. I can see the disgust in his eyes at what's happened and how he's beating himself up over it. I step closer and pull him to me, kissing his lips softly. I can feel him relax a little bit and when I pull away I know that he's trying not to hate himself.

I readjust my bra and tank tops and drag my wet pants back over my hips, fastening the button. I can see Jack doing the same out of the corner of my eye, his head hanging low in shame.

He bends down to pick up my sweatshirt and backpack and hands them to me, too embarrassed to maintain eye contact.

"Jack --" I begin

"We should start heading back."

I grab his arm to stop him, wishing that he would just turn and look at me.

"We both needed this," I whisper, and all I get is a small nod.

And so the two of us walk towards the direction of the camp.

Completely silent.

FINIS


End file.
